That Night
by Clopin K. Trouillefou
Summary: Erik contemplates that night so long ago when he first killed another... Based on ALW's musical


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"What kind of life have you known?" she had asked. _'What kind of life, you ask, Christine?'_ he thought, _'A horrible one, full of misery, solitude, isolation, persecution…'_ Even from birth, he'd been so alone, abhorred by his own mother who of all people was supposed to love her child no matter what. But she hadn't; she had touched him only to punish him, never out of love, she had never kissed him, never held him. A tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered. Where others were blessed with forgetfulness, he was cursed with remembering everyday of his wretched existence. Throughout Europe when he was 9-13 years old he'd been known as the Living Corpse, in Persia he'd been a menacing shadow ready to kill whomever the Shah willed. His only friend had been the _daroga_ to the Shah of Persia, Nadir; he was still a friend and lived in Paris now. 

It had been in the June of 1838, the 21st, that his wretched life had begun, his mother hating him the moment he was born. Yet she gave him a name of strength and beauty, Erik, and hadn't let the midwife kill him. The first scrap of clothing he'd felt was the mask she'd placed on his deformed face so she wouldn't have to see him. Though his first mask covered his entire face, only the right side was deformed. His eye was sunken, his cheekbone protruding. It was as though someone had taken skin too tight and stretched it over his skull, his nose looked as though someone had bashed it into his face. The skin was unevenly pigmented and rough; he was hideous to look upon, a monster and a freak. On his fifth birthday, he'd asked for a simple kiss, but he was severely punished for such a request. To add to it, his father had been a gargoyle thus he transformed into a sort of semi-gargoyle at nightfall. For nine years she'd raised him, taking care of him only out of obligation because he was her child. 

Erik ran away from home one night when he was but nine years old, no longer wishing to remain with a woman who so loathed him. He loved her then as he did now as an adult and always would, she was his mother after all. He had gone to sleep one night in a little thicket and was taken by Gypsies. They removed his mask once they returned to their camp and, like his mother, were horrified and disgusted at his malformed face. Whatever their original plan in taking him, their leader, Javert, decided he could be kept and would make a unique, and promising, attraction for carnival-goers. So he'd been locked up in a cage, without his mask, and put on display as a freak in part of their sideshow. Javert was, as Erik soon discovered, a power-hungry man, greedy in all aspects, vengeful, hotheaded with a quick temper, and always looking to blame someone when anything went wrong. He treated Erik lower than any animals his carnival kept, feeding him only went it struck him to do so, giving him water only at appointed times, and beating him.

Whatever went wrong was blamed on Erik, everything from bad weather to low profits or bad luck was his fault so far as these superstitious people were concerned. All the other Gypsies feared him and never stopped Javert from harming him. Erik was beaten for any and every reason Javert came up with. A bad mood, drunkenness, a bad day, low profits, small crowds, bad luck… they were all reasons for abuse. Things Erik did himself were punishable by beating; crying, arguing, refusing to obey, attempted suicide, not eating, illness… he didn't have to do much to earn it. During a typical day, he was kept in his cage, a rope around his neck and wrists restraining and binding him to the bars. He adapted to this life and rarely purposely-angered Javert. But, he too had a quick temper and disobeyed or argued with his keeper earning him a beating and no food or water. 

There were two people who didn't fear or look upon Erik as a bad omen, the two other sideshows. One was Samson, the strongman, and the other was Marie, the 'bearded' lady. Marie's beard was very fake, but when worn looked too real, she was a husky, not overly obese, but rather pretty woman. Both were of good nature, but neither dared disobey Javert. Marie was a woman, not physically strong, and as such most men thought little of her, especially since she'd spent nights in bed with Javert. He had forced her to it, though, something never revealed to the others and he saw her as a mere toy. Samson had too good a heart to truly harm the leader of the tribe, though the two men had their scuffles. Javert wasn't so brainless that he'd dare mess with Samson and when ordered by him would obey. 

Samson and Marie had their interests in each other though, but kept it from everyone, fearing they'd lose their way of life. This was the only thing they knew and they had no idea what to do should they be forced to abandon it. They were friendly, almost loving, toward Erik and realized that he was just a boy with the misfortune of having been born deformed. His physical flaws didn't make him any less human despite what everyone said, as they'd always tell him. Naturally, Javert would make trips into the town or village they were camped near to get food and other necessities. During these absences, Marie and Samson always let Erik out and tended to whatever wounds he may have. The others never told; they liked the pair and feared Samson's muscles so Javert never knew. The trio was sort of a small family, never got mad at or betrayed each other, but Samson and Marie couldn't replace Erik's mother, whom he longed to return to. 

Erik looked upon Marie as a release for Javert's desires and sexual hunger and upon himself merely as a release for his keeper's anger and temper. He'd always had a sneaking suspicion, though, that given the chance Javert may rape him. 

"That ass only has a hunger for women," Marie said, "Not men. And I should certainly hope not small children of either gender like yourself."

"I wouldn't be so sure, _ma cherie_," Samson answered, "I have noticed a kind of hunger come into his eyes when Erik's most vulnerable. And it's the same kind of hunger as when he looks at you. But don't worry, Erik, he wouldn't dare go that far, not so long as I'm around."

It was an assurance, a small one, but an assurance nonetheless, though the boy knew deep in his heart that they wouldn't always be around. Samson was right in that Javert would never use Erik for his physical desires so long as the strongman was around. That didn't mean that Javert wouldn't when Samson wasn't around as Erik learned one night…

It had started like any other day, Erik sitting in his cage, his hands numb and wrists sore and raw. He tried swallowing past the rope that was tight around his neck as he listened to the laughter of children outside the tent he was kept in. Thirteen years old, a young teenager, and he was still treated like an animal… and still allowing it. He sighed, a difficult task with the rope, knowing that the crowd would be there any minute. Then he'd have to listen to their screams and exclamations of horror and he'd have to sing. Erik was still very young, but he possessed a voice unlike any heard on Earth; it was pure and sweet, the most angelic sound to be heard in this carnival of misery and woe. He was a demon with an angel's voice, as Javert always put it.

"Talk about your oxymoron," Erik mumbled, "That contradicts itself, it's like a double negative."

Samson and Marie entered; not a good thing for him, that meant their acts were over and his torment was soon to begin.

"Erik?" Marie said quietly, not sure if he'd fallen asleep, as was his habit.

"What?" he asked as she lifted a corner of the cover over his cage that hid from view, "Are they coming?"

"Javert's just now giving them his introduction," she answered with a nod.

"Thrillsville," he replied sarcastically.

Marie gazed at Erik, taking in his physical appearance; he was a strangely beautiful young boy. His black hair had grown since the last time she'd trimmed it and now rested on his shoulders. It was thick and waving, but very much disheveled and mussed, his bangs framing his thin young face. They were longer on the right, going just past his jaw, whereas on the left they fell just past his brow. His skin was pale, almost alabaster, from a lack of sunlight. His eyes, though, were his most unique features; they were a pale whitish-blue with a ring of darker blue around the iris. He was so thin from little food and malnourishment, his clothes hanging from his thin shoulders. His legs had gotten long now that she really looked at him, but Javert's voice had grown closer and with a good-bye glance, she left with Samson.

Another sigh, Erik just didn't feel like singing today but he had no other choice unless he felt like sleeping in a puddle of his own blood. He was so tired of having someone else in control of his life. But there was no way he could win his freedom and by the time he grew to be an adult, he'd be too broken in spirit and in body to fight back. He longed to escape, to kill the bloody bastard, but he couldn't take on a full-grown man. Javert had long ago given him a dagger for protection as he'd also used Erik as a thief and spy and to do his bidding. But he took the little weapon away when Erik was on display or when he was being beaten. Erik struggled weakly in his bonds, but it was too painful for his neck and wrists and he was too tired. It had been so long since he'd gotten as much sleep as he wanted; Javert always kept him up late and woke him before sunrise. Erik could escape; he'd picked up plenty of tricks and escape arts from these people. He was a master at picking locks and everything else he'd learned by observation, but he was too tired. 

Erik sat in his cage, arms wrapped around his knees hugging them to his chest as the flames of the bonfire outside danced on the walls of the tent he was in. Those accursed Gypsies were having so much fun and eating all the food they wished and could. He listened jealously to the conversation, the laughter, and the sounds of cooking food, smelled the delicious aromas that stirred his appetite and teased his hunger. He'd already been allowed his meager dinner and had already eaten it. His eyes closed as he fought back tears of jealousy and rage, he heard the tent flap open. Instantly, he was alert and had his head up, expecting to see Javert enter with a whip in his hand to beat him. He relaxed when he realized it was only gentle Marie. 

"Erik," she said kneeling in front of his cage, reaching through the bars to touch him, "Samson and I are leaving tonight."

"Forever?" he questioned fearfully, grasping her hand, "You can't leave me here! Please, don't…"

"No, no, Erik," she answered as he sobbed, "We're going into town just for a few hours to get away and have some time alone," she tenderly kissed his hand reassuringly, "We'll be back, no need to fear, we would never leave you if we were to leave this place. All right? _Au revoir, mon petit_."

Erik whimpered and stretched out his hand to her as she left; little did they know of the menacing shadow that had been watching and waiting…

Javert watched Marie walk out of the tent where he kept Erik, hungrily licking his lips. He needed to relieve his hunger for control, control over another's body… sexual control. Marie was not his target this night, she was only good for temporary relief and pleasure, plus she was a headstrong woman and would never let him have control of her body. He had another in mind for sexual gratification and hunger he felt now, one that he could easily control, one much smaller and weaker than he, and one more vulnerable than Marie: Erik. He was the perfect 'partner', smaller and weaker and far more vulnerable than any woman had been. Javert already had physical and mental control of the boy, now he needed sexual control and he would have full control over him. Aside from that, the boy was almost broken, sexual humiliation would complete that. It was a win-win situation for Javert; he'd get the relief and pleasure he needed and full control over Erik.

Javert burst through the tent flaps suddenly, catching Erik off-guard; the fear in the boy's eyes aroused his keeper further, increasing his sexual appetite. There was a strange, demonic and hungered light in his eyes, his breathing was coming in excited pants. Erik backed up until the cold bars of his cage pressed into his flesh, fearing whatever Javert had in mind. His keeper unlocked the door, throwing it open, reached in and grabbed the boy by both wrists and, taking him out, held him above the ground. Javert took Erik into his own tent beside the one in which he kept the little freak and threw him to the ground. He tore Erik's shirt away from his small frail form and bound the boy's wrists after he had removed his own shirt. He looked down at Erik's bare chest, watching it rise and fall with his breathing, goosebumps covering the smooth surface. 

Erik shivered with cold and fear, his breathing and heartbeat increasing, as he dreaded what he knew was soon to come. Javert forced him to stand up while he remained on his knees, keeping the boy's hands above his head. He began trailing his tongue over the smooth surface of Erik's skin. He grabbed hold of Erik's hair and pulled, forcing the boy's head back, and bit down hard on his neck. Erik screamed in pain and was immediately backhanded, the force knocking him back on the ground. Javert was laying on top of him in an instant, his legs on either side of Erik's body. His hardened member pressed into the boy's stomach, the crotch of his trousers damp. 

"Silence, demon!" Javert hissed into Erik's ear, "You're mine to do with whatever I wish, remember that."

His hand trailed down Erik's body, as he said this, to his waist and between his legs, feeling for the bulge and upon finding it, grasped Erik hard and sudden. The boy gasped, involuntarily arching against the tense grown body on top of him. 

Javert released his demon and sat up, his hands at Erik's waist, pulling off the boy's trousers, pinning him down. He then bound Erik's ankles and turned Erik onto his chest and was again on top of him, arching his member into the small of Erik's back. Erik bit his lip, whimpering his eyes squeezed shut, desperately wishing the assault would stop. Suddenly he was turned onto his back again and he felt Javert grab him; as moans escaped his throat, Erik fought to free his wrists. His small wings released their grasp from his shoulders, opening to their full extent, as he slowly got his hands free. His taloned, three-toed feet held Javert back and forced him to let go, leaving bloody gashes where they bit into the bastard's flesh. Finally, Erik slipped the rope off his hands, his writs red, raw, scratched, and bleeding, and reached for his dagger. Once he got hold of it, he cut through the ropes binding his ankles as he fought to keep Javert back. 

Javert's lust quickly turned to anger as Erik began to actually fight back and try to free himself. As the rope around the boy's ankles broke, Javert knocked the dagger from his hands, sending it flying far out of reach. Erik somersaulted backward to get away from his keeper, fear once again coming into his eyes. Javert retrieved his own dagger and pounced upon the boy, cutting deep into him in various places. Erik, losing control of his own temper, caught Javert's arm and bit into him, driving his fangs in deep. As his keeper reeled back in pain, he reached his dagger but again Javert caught him from behind and got in several good blows of his own. He grabbed Erik's left wrist and lifted him above his head, not realizing that Erik hadn't released his dagger. The blade pointed behind him thus, Erik brought his arm across his chest and stabbed Javert. 

The strike was fatal, the blade driving deep into Javert's chest, into his black heart. He staggered a moment, releasing Erik, a gagging sound escaping his throat, before falling limply back onto the ground. Erik, too, fell to the ground, lying on his back, his breath coming in shaking gasps, as he attempted to calm his heart and breathing. Reality struck him as he sat up and realized he'd killed someone, he had murdered Javert. He backed up to a corner of the tent, knees to his chest, tears of horror in his eyes as he trembled. He half-expected his keeper to get up and beat him for the insubordinate act, but he remained still. He continued to tremble, tears streaming down his cheeks, terrified of what would happen when the others found Javert dead. Surely, they would kill him without contacting the authorities so they could take care of him.

Erik hadn't meant to kill Javert, he just knew that he'd had to protect himself, he'd only wanted to keep the man at bay. Yet, Javert wasn't moving, the dagger still stuck in his heart where Erik's lucky strike had stabbed him. Erik whimpered; he didn't murder his keeper, it'd been an accident, he'd done it out of self-defense. It wasn't murder if it was out of self-defense, was it? '_Could I be executed?'_ he wondered, _'Is killing out of self-defense murder?'_ He didn't know what to do, if this was murder that he'd committed. He slowly rose to his feet and on unsteady legs walked to the still body of his keeper and looked down. Javert's eyes were open, but they'd rolled back in his head, he wasn't breathing and he lay completely still; he was dead. 

Erik knelt down and pulled his dagger out of Javert's chest, wiping the blood off it on the bastard's bare torso, leaving small cuts. He stared at his keeper's dead face, realizing that he no longer had to stay, there was no one to keep him there. _'If he's dead,'_ Erik realized, _'then I'm free. I don't have to stay, I can leave, and I have control of my own life again… I'm free.'_

"Free…" he murmured, finding a new meaning in the word.

He turned to leave, but recalled that Javert had stripped him of his clothing, so he grabbed a thick blanket from the bastard's bed, wrapped himself in it and left. He mounted the horse he knew to be Javert's and, kicking it into a canter, fled from the carnival. The others wouldn't pursue him, he knew, they feared him and would be glad to be rid of him. His only regrets in leaving those wretched people were leaving Samson and Marie; he'd miss them and he knew they'd worry about him, but he had to leave, he wanted to go.

He could return to the little cottage he and his mother lived in, but he didn't know where he was or how to get back to Rouen. 

"I'll wander this world," he said aloud to himself, "until I can find my way back to Rouen. There's so much out there, so much to know. It won't be easy, but I will wander, living off of what I know. This is my life, this is my destiny and somehow I know that I will be forced always to wander through life, not really sure where I'm going. I'll just have to make do, make my own paths and my own roads."

Samson and Marie returned to the camp hurriedly, gut telling them something wasn't right. When they returned, Javert's horse was gone and the others were silent and afraid, but forlorn and mournful.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Samson asked.

In answer they merely pointed to Javert's tent and turned back to the bonfire while Samson and Marie entered the abode. Everything was still and quiet, everything had been left untouched and undisturbed. Javert's body lay on the ground a deep wound in his left breast, blood pooling around him. Bite marks marred his right arm, the blood from them still oozing. Erik's tattered shirt lay feet from the boy's trousers; blood marked the ground, a blanket missing from the bed. In the tent beside Javert's, Erik's cage was empty, it's door wide open, there was no sign of Erik.

"What could have happened?" Marie pondered worriedly, "Where could he be?"

"Javert tried to rape Erik thus the boy killed him," Samson responded solemnly, "Erik took a blanket and horse and fled. To where, I do not know, but he fled this world, this place he knew for four years never to return…"


End file.
